A/N: Here's one of those fics I mentioned I was doing. I don't know where this is going. I got woke up in the middle of the night last night for a beginning of season 4 get Dean out of hell fic and am running with that now. Still planning the ones I mentioned last fic and here's one of them. Crack! Hope it's funny. I somehow just love the mental image I get with the first scenes. Yummy! Anyway, enjoy and I'm on to the next story. Title is from Jefferson Airplane's White Rabbit.
Feed Your Head
A shrill scream echoed over the cemetery, drowning out the pained grunt and splash of water. A flash of fire brightened the night before dying away to leave a dim glow in the pouring rain. Silence reigned briefly, only to be broken by falling rain pattering onto the already sodden ground.
Sputtering erupted into the darkness as Dean choked up muddy water. "Well," he said as he forced himself upright, watery mud sloshing over his legs and running into his boots, "that went crappy." He coughed again, spitting muddy mucus onto the ground. Sam stifled a giggle which turned into a grimace as he stood and rolled his shoulder, which had had a close encounter with a hundred plus year old headstone. Smoke was still rising from the open grave that held the remains of the spirit's body. She had been killing the people who were descendents of the town founders. Men who had raped and killed her after she found out they were skimming from the lumber yard that was the center of commerce for the area, and her father's hard working livelihood.
"Yeah, this weather sucks. But Dean, we still have to fill the grave back in."
"I'm done. It'll be six months before anyone even lays eyes on this freakin' place. I'm soaked and you're hurt…" Sam opened his mouth to protest but Dean cut him off by continuing to speak. "… Don't lie to me Sammy. I'm done. We're leavin'."
"Get your ass in the car Sammy." Dean started trudging to the Impala, water making squishing sounds as it seeped out of his hiking boots. "Oh, and by the way, we get where we're goin'…you're scrubbin' her upholstery."
"What?!" Sam squawked, sounding a little like a waterlogged duck. Dean grinned.
"You were too slow with the matches Sammy-boy and I got the mud wrestling lesson."
"Dude, it was pouring and I couldn't keep the damn things lit. If you hadn't drowned your Zippo two hours ago you wouldn't look like you eat. Ya hog."
"Oh, that's it. Sasquatch is getting a deep conditioning mud treatment." Dean tackled Sam into the very puddle lurking behind his little brother that Sam just happened to not see. Both Winchesters landed with a squish in three inch deep mud. Dean slapped his hand on the murky surface and slung water up over Sam's face, coating him in slime and grave dirt. Sam sputtered and choked before rolling Dean off of him and onto his own back. Shoulder forgotten, Sam wrapped his hands in Dean's drenched shirt and pushed his brother down deeper into the quagmire. Mud squirted up from around Dean's neck and hit Sam square in a grinning mouth. He spluttered and fell backwards off of Dean who sat up and reached a very muddy hand out to affectionately ruffle Sam's long hair.
"Dee-eean." Sam whined again sounding like he did at four years old. Dean rolled Sam's muddy legs off of his own with a plop and stood. He reached a hand down and started pulling Sam to his feet when Sam gripped the proffered digits. Sam was nearly on his feet when his hand slipped free and he fell flat on his back with another splash. Dean roared a laugh and finally got his grumbling brother on his feet. Sam groaned and rolled his shoulder again. Dean sobered slightly and reached for the discarded shotguns and the shovel.
"Yeah, let's just go." Dean walked to the Impala and stowed the muddy weapons until they reached their destination and he could clean them properly. He handed Sam a pilfered motel towel and grabbed one for himself, getting the worst of the clumpy mud off his legs and back before tossing it into the trunk again and waiting for Sam to do the same. Dean shut the lid and walked around the car to the driver's side. He met Sam's eyes over the roof.
"Ya know; I might have been a little more sympathetic if she'd been a hot chick instead of a freaky ass ghost bitch."
"Oh come on. You couldn't have had a better time if you were with Lindsay Lohan." Sam grinned, still sporting mud on his cheek.
"Remind me to hose you off before I let you in Bobby's." Dean said, cracking a grin again. Sam slid into his side of the car and Dean fired her powerful engine. He looked at Sam and smiled again, wiggling his muddy ass on the seat. "You're still detailin' my girl, bitch."
"Jerk." Sam said good naturedly, wiggling on his own seat. "Bobby's huh?"
"Yep." Dean shifted the car into drive and hit the gas, spinning streams of mud out from behind the rear tires.
Dean pulled into Bobby's and smacked his sleeping brother, dislodging dry mud from his splattered cheek.
"I'm chafing like a mother and you're freaking sleepin'. C'mon, we're here. I want a shower." Bobby had heard the engine and was standing on the porch. Dean got out of the car and Sam followed, going to the trunk for the bags while brushing dry mud from his neck and shirt. He rubbed his eyes with the back of a fist and looked at Dean who chuckled and shook his head.
"What?" Sam said.
"You look like a raccoon with color confusion. The mask is supposed to be black, not brown."
"Dean? Sam?" Bobby asked as he gaped at the mud covered Winchesters. "What the hell happened to you two?"
"Took up spiritual mud wrestling with a pissed off hundred year old instructor." Dean snarked. He smacked Sam in the ribs with his own duffel and walked up to Bobby, holding out his empty arm for a hug. The older man balked. "I'll pass until you both shower. I aught ta make you use the hose."
Sam and Dean met each other's eyes and laughed. Bobby shook his head and followed clumps of dry mud into his house left by Dean, Sam keeping pace with the older hunter. "Hey, you don't mind havin' us for a few days do ya, Bobby?" Sam asked as he dropped his bag to the floor and raised his hand to his injured shoulder, unconsciously supporting the limb. Dry mud fell to the worn linoleum as he massaged the stiffness.
Bobby went to the refrigerator and opened the small freezer at the top, pulling out a reusable cold pack. He kneaded the material to soften it before handing it to Sam and speaking. "' Course I don't mind havin ya Sam. Been too long anyhow. How bad you hurt boy?"
"Just a bruise. Connected with a tombstone."
"So what's the deal with the mud? Spirit throw you both around?"
"It started that way." Sam looked down at himself and cracked a puzzled grin. "Then it was Dean. He's in a weird mood. Just got up and said we were done. We left… and wound up here."
"Done with what? That hunt?"
"I don't really know Bobby."
"You both have been huntin' non-stop. Give yourselves a few days and Dean'll be back to himself. You'll hit the road again soon. Just relax for a bit." Bobby said as he sat down at the table in front of the newspaper. Dean came out of the bathroom wearing a dark green tee shirt and black jeans. He had a damp towel draped around the back of his neck. Dean threw open the refrigerator door and ducked inside, rifling through the contents.
"Hey Pigpen, go get a shower." He said, glancing back over his shoulder and grinning at Sam before returning his attention to the food before him.
Sam rolled his eyes and punched Dean in the arm with his good one as he walked past.
Bobby turned on the young man standing with his head stuck in the refrigerator. "Are you humming?!"
"Shot down in a blaze…Huh, what?" Dean said not taking his head out of the fridge.
"Okay Dean, what the hell's up with you? Ya know, Sam's worried. Hell, I'm worried. That's Bon Jovi you're hummin'"
"Nothin's wrong Bobby. I just want a night off." Dean said as he straightened from his perusal and turned to face his old friend with a piece of cold pizza sticking out of his mouth. "Fee? Nufim's wong." Dean said, shoving half the slice into his mouth and chewing noisily. He swallowed. Sam returned from his shower, his still damp hair curling over his collar and darkening the fabric with moisture.
"Come on Sammy." Dean said, reaching for his jacket.
"What?! We're leavin' again?"
"Goin' out. Have a good night Bobby."
Dean shrugged into the familiar leather as he banged through the door and headed down the steps and into the dusty yard. Sam looked at Bobby apologetically. Bobby shrugged. "Go Boy. Watch out for him but try to relax. I think he's okay." Sam shrugged and banged through the door in Dean's wake as the Impala rumbled to life. "Call me when ya need a lift!" Bobby shouted. Sam nodded and shrugged before climbing into the car. Bobby shook his head and listened to the high whine of tires hitting asphalt as the car pulled onto the main road. The powerful V8 engine roared and the tail lights disappeared into the night. He chuckled. "Pigpen? Have fun boys."
Dean pulled into the city about forty minutes later and drive for a few minutes, finally cracking a grin as he found the building he was looking for. Sam looked through the windshield skeptically and then glanced at his brother as Dean smacked him in the chest with the back of his right hand. "C'mon."
"Uh… why?" Sam asked, eying the building again.
"Come on Sammy." Dean got out of the car and walked into the bar. Sam just shook his head and followed, stopping dead in his tracks just inside the door.
Inside the bar the walls were black colored, a deep inky paint job with twinkling lights embedded in the walls to resemble stars. Black lights turned everything a glowing blue. A huge riveted steel sphere with a circular 'eye' appeared to be embedded in the back wall behind where a DJ played with a massive sound system. Dean stood next to Sam and grinned, having to look just slightly up at his little brother. He elbowed Sam in the ribs and looked at the black lit bar. Behind it stood a five foot something woman with long dark hair wearing a form fitting white jumper with no sleeves. She wore silver cuffs on each arm and had her hair in a knot on the back of her head. Her white suit glowed blue in the lighting, almost making her shine in the dim room. "Dude, Star Wars?" Sam said as he finally put the décor in place in his mind.
"Duh, Sammy. Have you really forgotten the classics?" Dean walked up to the bar and looked at the woman behind it. She smiled and walked over.
"What'll you boys have?" she said
"Whiskey, neat." Dean answered. She flipped two black shot glasses up onto the table and pulled a bottle from the shelf behind her that was decorated with neon green and red lighting. She poured the shots and Dean reached for his glass.
Sam took his and downed it when Dean did. Dean watched Sam and chortled, nearly blowing whiskey back out of his mouth. "Dude, Chewbacca!"
"What?" Sam said around a grimace as the whiskey burned.
"Your glass. Chewbacca!" Dean chuckled. "She has you pegged." Dean said, gesturing at the bar keep. Sam turned his glass in his hand and looked at the hair shrouded face staring back at him. Dean followed suit with his and grinned. "She's not blind at least. I got Han Solo." Dean gestured for another round.
"What are we even doing here Dean?" Sam asked his brother as he watched Dean down another shot.
"I'd say we're mastering the Force one shot at a time, Sammy-boy!" He chuckled, and lowered his voice to sound mysterious. "Join me Obi Wan." Sam tipped back another whiskey with his brother.
An hour later the black lit room was beginning to spin for Sam. He giggled. "Okay, Skywalker, time to head back home doncha think?" Dean said.
"We callin' Bobby?"
"Yeah, think so." Dean said as he slid off the stool to land on wobbly feet himself. "He thinks I'm leavin' baby out there he's got another thing comin' though." Dean pulled his cell phone and dialed Bobby.
"Bbbuuuurrrrr. Shorry Bobby." Dean said as he grinned at Sam. "Heeeyyy, ya think ya can come and get us?"
"Where are ya?"
"In Pierre. Sch…tar Wars Bar." Dean slurred. "Leia's freakin' hot man! Sam's Chewbacca and the dark side is fightin' freakin' Yoda." Dean giggled as he watched a big black bouncer take on a small fat man who was harassing a waitress.
"Alright. Don't do anything stupid and I'll be there in about an hour."
"Not gonna do nothing but get Leia's number without lettin' Chewy here fall off the stool. Shammy can't hold his liquor." Dean steadied Sam as he reached for the bowl of peanuts and nearly hit the dark tiled floor. He hung up the phone and snatched the bowl from Sam who tipped half of it onto the floor. He picked up a peanut and flicked it at Sam, hitting him right in the nose and making him blink.
"Hey, whaddaya think yer doin' Dean?"
Dean slid off his stool after flicking another peanut at Sam, this time catching him right in the center of the forehead. "Gonna go find my light saber." Dean said, getting his feet under him enough to head for the bathroom. He returned a few minutes later to see a napkin tucked under his shot glass with blue ink digits on it and Sam smiling drunkenly at a woman that looked like C-3PO in a gold sequin dress. Blue ink smeared across the back of Sam's hand in another set of digits. Dean grinned, thinking hard about letting Sam live it down, like, never. "C'mon Anakin. Let's blow this space station and wait in the car for Bobby."
Once out in the air, their heads began to clear just a bit and although Sam still wobbled and giggled Dean managed to keep him upright until they got in the car. Dean left his keys in his pocket and just leaned back against the seat he would vacate when Bobby showed up.
Bobby pulled in beside the Impala and shut off his car. He leaned in the window to see Sam falling asleep and Dean drooling in the cool night air. He laid on the horn and both Winchesters shot up, Sam smacking his head on the ceiling of the car. "Oh, what the hell Bobby?"
"Thought you two wanted to get home?"
"Yeah." They both said, Sam still rubbing his sore head.
Sam groaned as a shaft of sunlight hit him square in the face. He squinted up to see Dean holding a knife blade in the blinds to open them up. "I'm so gonna kill you."
"Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy! Such a sunny disposition this morning. C'mon, Bobby's makin' breakfast."
"Do I wanna know?"
"We'll hit Mickey D's on the way outta town. Rumsfield is laying under the table in the kitchen."
Sam groaned again as the smell wafted in and right under his nose. "By the way, Bobby knows we're hung over. He's makin' scrapple and grits."
"Oh, god. Kill me now." Sam said, running for the bathroom. Dean grinned as he watched Sam's retreating form in his rumpled tee shirt with one leg of his boxers riding up shorter than the other. He heard Sam wretch and walked to the door, staying carefully down wind. Sam looked up from the toilet bowl, a miserable look on his disheveled face.
Dean grinned. "Looks like seconds on the steak and eggs for me this morning."
"Ugh, I hate you."
"Mornin' Sammy." Dean held up a bucket and a sponge, still grinning at Sam. "Oh, and Sammy?"
"What?" Sam said as he looked up.
"You're on bath detail for my baby before we leave."